Exhale
by hmw95
Summary: He didn't know how he could've failed, but he did. He didn't know how he was going to get himself out, but he gave up. He knew he was going to die, yet he still held on. He exhaled; he was at peace. (Short one-shot)


_(A/N: Recently, I have been reading on here, and been so... Been so inspired to rejoin this amazing community. Expect new things, readers. This is just a very small, very non-relevant taste of what is to come. Hint- Expect some updates on Arachnophobia. Also, on this story, feel free to choose which turtle you think this represents... Enjoy.) _

His grip was loosening. _No, no, no…_ He couldn't lose his grip! He couldn't fall! He couldn't lose his never ending battle with that of the unknown. The bottom… He couldn't fall all the way down. He couldn't hit rock bottom!

The rope kept unraveling itself from the pole that held the immense weight of the poor creature. He had tears rolling down his cheeks; he had crimson life liquids covering his hands, feet, and body. His bottom lip wouldn't end its trembling, and fear overcame his facial features as he dared to look down to the abyss that would follow if he were to let go.

Darkness; it was all he could see, feel, or hear. The fall would be endless, the fall would be legendary. But he knew, _he knew_, that if he fell, it would be the end.

The rope unraveled slightly, sending him sliding down a few inches. He lets out a gut wrenching scream, believing the moment to be his last. But the rope holds, tangling amongst itself against the metal it presided around.

He was going to die. He _knew_ he was going to. He just _knew_. The end was inevitable. The rope couldn't hold him much longer, it was going to give out, and then he was going to fall. And then, he was going to die. No other options filled his head; no other options could break through the only sure thing.

Yet, he couldn't help but think of his family. They were nowhere near, and he failed. He failed the mission, the mission that brought him to his epic ending, the mission that separated him from his brothers. He wondered how they were supposed to continue on without him. Not _just _the sense of his death, but in the sense of their task. Would they end up getting hurt? Would it all be his fault? Would they even notice his absence?

Those thoughts could do only little to distract him. How could he possibly forget the fact he was dangling over the unknown, the dark abyss known as death? He couldn't fathom the thought of his brothers finding out. What about his father? What if they couldn't find his body? What if they were left to search endlessly for him, until the end of time?

Another tear fell. And then another.

He was a broken mess; he didn't want his life to end. He loved his family more than anything. He would choose them over air. He wanted to be able to walk away, to enjoy the simple things in life. He wanted to hug his brothers and tell them he loved them. He wanted his father to be there, to comfort him. To tell him the words he wanted to hear; he wanted to be okay. He really wanted to. He wanted to _live_.

He wanted to fight, he wanted to love, he wanted to hate. He wanted experience. He was only sixteen for heaven's sake! He couldn't pass on yet! He couldn't… No.

Then, he would look down. The motion would cause the rope to swing, a pendulum forming as if it were on a giant clock, and it was counting down the moment the fabric was set to send him on his flight to the afterlife. He sobbed once more, his hands holding on even tighter, the rope cutting into the flesh of his hands even deeper.

How could he fail so badly? How could he get himself into such a predicament? How? _How_?

He could hear the tearing. He could hear the screaming. He could hear the collision, of flesh to pavement. He could hear _everything_. But it was all prophetic; it was his imagination, it was the fact that his fate was determined. It was the fact that he had given up his hope. It was the fact that… He had given up.

"I'm so sorry…" He whispered, with his voice thick with tears of acceptance. He looked down, into the darkness that was ready to swallow him whole.

He exhaled. He was at peace. He was ready. He could question all he wanted; he could say all he wanted. It wouldn't change a thing; it wouldn't bring any difference to his predicament. He was only prolonging the future.

The rope began to swing wildly the moment his hands were no longer connected. The cold nipped at his wet skin, biting his tear stained cheeks as he fell. He couldn't help but flail his arms and legs, as if trying to slow the fall; as if to soften the blow.

He wanted to apologize to everyone in person. He wanted to relive his greatest memories; wasn't that what was supposed to occur when one is having their last minute of life?

Then, he hit the ground. After the collision, the abyss was silent. He breathed out, content. Dying wasn't the hardest part, he realized; it was the moments prior.

He suddenly could hear voices, footsteps; someone was coming. Yet, he closed his eyes. He shut himself down, accepting his fate.

He exhaled.

He was at peace.


End file.
